


Unraveled

by altmodes



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Crying, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Sitting, Fingering, Light Dom/sub, Married Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vibrators, Voice Kink, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8183309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altmodes/pseuds/altmodes
Summary: Chromedome’s voice is a whimper, a soft tatter of its usual fullness, smothered under the mesh and metal of Rewind’s hips.





	

Chromedome’s voice is a whimper, a soft tatter of its usual fullness, smothered under the mesh and metal of Rewind’s hips. He can barely tell the difference between the edges of his own thoughts-- repetitive, half-coherent, pleading at his conjunx that would be escaping his mouth if it were free-- and the sounds of the wet lapping of his tongue, of Rewind grinding and slipping over his nose and the topography of his face. Chromedome is dizzy, even on his back, even grounded so firmly with Rewind’s legs wrapped around either side of his head. Everything is tangy metallic body fluids and heat and Rewind’s voice just everywhere, and _Primus **fuck**_ the feeling of the vibrator spreading his valve so damn wide from the inside.

Thinking about it pulls another whine out of him, buried along with his mouth against Rewind’s valve. He gets a low laugh in response; Chromedome doesn’t think it sounds very sympathetic. “Awh,” Rewind starts, and it sounds like he’s going for a giggle, but it comes out as a moan, “I’m sorry, what’d you say?”

Just the sound of Rewind’s voice like that-- turned on and fond in a way that might kill him right here and now-- revs Chromedome’s engine inside his chest, sending heat through his body. His back arches like he has no say in the matter and he suddenly feels the whole volume of the vibrator inside him, stretching and filling and _buzzing_ , and Chromedome thinks maybe he’ll cry just from the feeling of it. Maybe he is crying. His face is too wet to ever be sure.

“Wow, Domey,” he hears Rewind say, and Rewind’s taking one of Chromedome’s hands to press it up against his small chest, “y’like it, huh? Gettin’ all filled up like that.” Rewind’s voice dips lower, taunting; heat and tension blooms in Chromedome’s abdomen like Rewind has reached out to stroke him, but he knows that the only place they’re touching is the thighs clutching his head between them, the valve open to his tongue, the hands holding his. It takes Rewind a couple beats to continue, his vocalizer cycling through some empty noises of pleasure. Rewind _tsks_ , but his words are timed with rolling motions of his hips, self-satisfied sighs: “Primus, I don’t even gotta touch you and you’re about to fall apart.”

Chromedome’s hips thrash: he can feel _himself_ dripping now, soaking his thighs and searing every wire below his waist. As he’s arching and trying to rub his thighs together, Rewind catches his other wrist, the one he wasn’t _already_ holding. It’s symbolic, really. Chromedome sobs against him. Rewind laughs again, in that way he adores so much, teasing-cruel laced with wanting. Chromedome digs his tongue deeper inside of him. He couldn’t try to silence the wordless begging and pleading coming out of him at this point; he just fills Rewind with it and drinks him up.

“Fuck, that feels good, Domey,” Rewind murmurs, and somehow he just knows that all Chromedome wants right now is to hear his _voice_. “I wanna hear you right-- right in my valve. Primus, you’re loud, are you that close to overloading?”

Rewind squeezes his head with his thighs, and Chromedome can tell _he’s_ close, his hips and voice hitching, his fingers digging into Chromedome’s wrist. The lubricant dripping down over Chromedome’s face, down the sides of his cheeks, into the back of his throat-- it’s hot and thick and overwhelming. Chromedome pulls in his ankles to his aft and desperately grinds his hips into the empty air, and yes, he’s loud, audible even through Rewind pressing down against him. The desperation is pitching higher and higher into static in his voice, along with the frenzy and need in his untouched hips, and Rewind’s purring murmur just goes on.

“ _Wow._ Not even touchin’ anything,” Rewind’s fingers rub over his own, tenderly; Chromedome can feel the weld-lines of Rewind’s spark chamber against the palm of his hand. “Just listening to my voice, and shoving your face in my valve, and kicking and writhing and thinking about what a _fucking_ mess you are without me even touching you, and you’re gonna overload, Domey-- right? ‘Cause you like this, right?”

Rewind’s voice is dripping-sweet, just like the rest of him is dripping, but his words are quick. They’re ruthless, like Rewind is pulling him apart by the threads, and just like that, Chromedome comes undone. The overload shakes through him in fits and shudders. His hips are off the bed completely, along with half his back, the cables and struts tensing and trembling. The vibrations are less an intolerable taunt now than overwhelming, euphoric-- the sense of fullness is _good_ , and he rocks his hips into it, into the phantom of outside sensation. Rewind is still the world above him, a dark sky full of motion when Chromedome can focus again. Rewind sounds half-coherent.

“-- so fucking desperate like that, just, Primus, your tongue, how do you move like that, _Primus_ ,” Rewind whines. Chromedome tilts his head forward, trying to focus past the fucking _supernova_ of sensation vibrating in his own valve, and twists his tongue into the densest cluster of internal nodes on the anterior of Rewind’s valve. He lets out a half-voluntary growl of his engine that goes through both of them at the way Rewind’s voice just dissolves into static, his hips urging down onto Chromedome’s tongue. It sends another series of spark-flickering shudders through Chromedome to hear it. To feel it.

_I love you,_ Chromedome thinks, and moans, long and loud, as Rewind spasms against his mouth.

He lets his tongue slow once some of Rewind’s moans and static have faded, and when Rewind doesn’t immediately move, for a moment Chromedome wonders if Rewind is going to ask if they can just keep going like this, just riding his mouth. After a few kliks, though-- if Chromedome had to guess, he’d say Rewind is just looking down at him, still squirming a little from the vibrator-- his conjunx slips his already-relaxed thighs’ grip from around Chromedome’s head and plunks down just behind him. Chromedome can just see the shape and color of Rewind looking down at him through the smeared mess of his visor.

“Oooohhh,” Rewind laughs, a little staticky still, “you’re a mess, Domey.”

Chromedome’s not sure what sound he _tries_ to make-- something to counter _that_ \-- but what ends up coming out is another wiped-out moan. “Rewind,” he manages.

“Mmmm. Yeah.”

Rewind crawls down the length of the bed on his hands and knees-- fuck his own spark, Chromedome thinks, after he’s wiped off his visor and gotten a glance at him, Rewind’s soaked, too-- and props himself up on one of Chromedome’s trembling legs. It’s a little embarrassing how easily the vibrator comes out, once Rewind’s got his fingers around the rim. Chromedome cuts off his own surprise at the sensation-- of emptiness, of liquid spilling out of him and onto Rewind’s fingers, of pleasure.

Chromedome lets his head fall back, and his vision dims a little. He’s expecting Rewind to pull away from his leg, maybe crawl up or around to settle on his chest. Rewind doesn’t.

His hips jerk under Rewind’s fingers before his brain registers that he’s being touched, Rewind’s thumb skimming a wide circle around his valve, just below his spike. Chromedome tries and almost fails to prop himself up on an elbow. Rewind seems pleased with himself, settling a cheek atilt against the seam of Chromedome’s thigh and his hip to push his thighs wider apart. No, Chromedome thinks, reverently; what Rewind seems is _wicked_. “I love you,” he says, more clearly this time. “Rewind. I love you.”

Rewind’s laughter buzzes out hoarsely, and he rolls his fingers in circles around the sensory node above the valve he’s leaning next to. “I love you, too, Domey.”

Chromedome’s silence breaks into a shuddery moan as his thighs part. After the touchless feeling of vibrations, Rewind’s hand against his valve is a shock, warm and solid and blissful. Rewind takes his cue almost immediately to slip the fingers of his other hand inside Chromedome’s valve. He was still seeping lubricant onto the bed even without Rewind’s fingers in there, but the feeling of being filled up again, being stretched out and _touched_ makes his mind almost go blank with pleasure that Chromedome thought had already been wrung out of him. He realizes he’s whimpering.

“Aw, Domey, you’re crying again,” Rewind teases, humming kisses through his faceplate into Chromedome’s thigh even as he’s picking up the pace with his fingers. Chromedome feels a flush of warmth: affection and embarrassment. His hips are dissolving, nothing but loose heat held together by the driving points of pleasure that are Rewind’s fingers, twisting and pushing and digging.

“Rewind-- oh-- _oh_ \--” There are other words in the world, probably, but none he knows right now. Chromedome’s whole world contracts to a point once more, just the roaring in his engine and Rewind and Rewind’s fingers twisted into the heat in his hips. His love always knows just how to unravel him, and keep tying him back together.

Rewind’s fingers have slowed to something teasing and lackadaisical by the time Chromedome’s second overload has receded; if Rewind hadn’t let up a bit, Chromedome thinks maybe he just would have died, albeit blissfully. He’s not sure he’s not dead already, looking down at Rewind, face and fingers slick, visor sparkling at him. He looks so happy.

“Hey, sweetspark. You’re looking beautiful.” Rewind’s voice is playful, but it’s sincere. Another tick in the lifelong, ever-running ‘I’m dead’ column.

“Yeah?” Chromedome sighs a laugh, wiping at his own face again with two fingers. “You like pink?”

Rewind snickers and crawls back up to collapse beside him. He always tucks so easily against Chromedome’s chest, or on top of him; the slight weight of him is comforting, a familiar reassurance of his presence. Chromedome wraps an arm around him.

“Yeah,” Rewind decides, tilting his head up to wipe some of the cooled lubricant off of Chromedome’s cheek. “It suits you.”


End file.
